A Godfather's Struggle
by SiriusElvenStar
Summary: Sirius Black is struggling with his inner demons of being back at No. 12 as well as trying to console his godson's fears of the war to come. What was he really thinking when he saw the boggart of Harry in the drawing room? Missing Moment OotP. Slightly AU
1. Chapter 1

A Godfather's Struggle

_SiriusElvenStar_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Some excerpts from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, American edition, Chapter 9: The Woes of Mrs. Weasley, pages 173-178.

Summary: A missing moment from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ that would have added more Harry and Sirius and Remus bonding time. What was really going through Sirius's mind when he saw the boggart of a dead Harry on the floor? Slightly Alternate Universe.

* * *

Sirius Black reclined back in his chair with a content smile playing across his lips. The cheerful atmosphere was intoxicating, and Sirius, who never believed that any sort of pleasant environment could even be possible at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, actually found himself _smiling_ in the house of his fathers.

'_If dear old mum could see me now_...' he mused to himself as he looked at the company around the room. He glanced over at the Weasley family gathered together at the opposite end of the table, enjoying a last meal together before the kids returned to Hogwarts; over to his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, who was currently entertaining Hermione Granger with her Metamorphagus abilities; over at Mundungus Fletcher who was inspecting the quality of the dinnerware, probably estimating the value of the silver for one of his shady operations; and over to his best friend, Remus Lupin, who was in deep conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Indeed, if Walburga Black could see the people currently residing in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, she would have had a fit over all of the filthy blood-traitors, mudbloods, criminals, and half-breeds staining the house of her fathers.

Sirius surveyed the kitchen once more satisfactorily and watched Molly Weasley get up from the table, yawning widely. "Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in…Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? 'Night, Harry, dear."

Sirius's heart swelled with pride at the mention of his godson, Harry Potter, who was sitting quietly next to him listening attentively as Mad Eye Moody explained who the people were in an old photograph that he was showing Harry.

Sirius took another sip of butterbeer, his eyes never leaving his godson. It was uncanny how much he resembled his father. Both Harry and James had untamable, jet black hair that stood up at odd angles; though, Sirius noted, Harry never messed it up like James liked to do in order to the allusion that he just got off his broomstick. Sirius thought Harry was nearly the exact same build and height that James was when he was Harry's age. They also had the same face, except James never possessed the remarkable lightning-shaped scar that donned Harry's forehead, and James had rounder, hazel colored eyes while Harry's green eyes bore a striking resemblance to his mother's.

However, after further scrutiny, Sirius observed that there was a very minor, but very significant difference in Harry's appearance. Harry's eyes were almond-shaped and the exact same shade of emerald that Lily had. Both their eyes exuded intelligence, compassion, and warmth, but Sirius remembered Lily's eyes always being bright and energetic, while Harry's were slightly more faint and haunted. It was such a small and subtle change that many would have overlooked, but to Sirius the minute detail was quite clear.

It was the same haunted look that stared back at him every time Sirius looked in the mirror.

Only unmentionable horrors could have ever brought about such a haunted and distinct change in a person's appearance, and Sirius had his fair share of such horrors from Azkaban. After eleven years of the dementors forcing him to relive his worst memories, the petrified screams of the other prisoners, and the subjection of his own dark thoughts, Sirius wasn't surprised at all to see the drastic changes to his reflection. His once young and handsome features had been replaced by a gaunt expression, graying hairs, pallid skin, and premature wrinkles around his own faint grey eyes. Yes, only somewhere as awful and horrifying as Azkaban could inflict such a drastic shift in appearance.

'_Or Voldemort,_' Sirius thought darkly, after he stole another glance at Harry. A surge of hatred erupted deep inside of him thinking about the monster that had caused so much pain to the young, innocent, and happy teenager that he deeply cared for.

Sirius gazed at Harry for a few more moments, when suddenly he saw his almond eyes grow wide with shock. The emerald color darkened, and the haunted look became more pronounced than ever as Harry stared at the old photograph. He turned to Moody and forced a grin, but to Sirius seemed more like a grimace, and muttered something incoherently as he rose looking pale and shaken. Concerned, Sirius leaned over the table.

"What's that you've got there, Mad Eye?"

Sirius tried to ask nonchalantly, but there was a slightly sharpness to his tone that only Remus's sensitive hearing could catch. The werewolf glanced up as a slight crease furrowed his brow. He politely finished his conversation with Kingsley before focusing his attention on Sirius and Moody, cautiously peering between the two of them as if trying to discern the situation.

"Is something wrong?" Remus asked, frowning slightly at his friend.

"Nah," Moody interjected before Sirius could respond. "Just thought that young Potter would have liked to have seen this…"

He passed the old photograph across the table to Sirius while Remus glimpsed over his shoulder. Suddenly, the cause of Harry's earlier disturbance became obvious. It was a photograph taken of the old Order of the Phoenix, and standing directly in between Lily and James Potter was the traitor who sold them both to Voldemort—Peter Pettigrew. Remus breathed in sharply, and Sirius felt another surge of hatred course through him. His eyes narrowed furiously, his lips tightened into a very thin line, and he clenched the photograph tightly until his knuckles turned white.

The sudden transformation did not go unnoticed by the old Auror. "What is it?" Moody growled.

"_Pettigrew_." Sirius hissed menacingly. A dark look crossed the Moody's scarred face and he nodded stiffly in understanding. Sirius took no notice however; he was seething. It wasn't until Remus put a calming hand on his shoulder that Sirius realized he was actually shaking with rage.

"Which way did Harry go, Alastor?" Remus asked quietly.

Moody's magical eye swiveled backwards into its socket. "He's stopped outside the drawing room."

Moody tore the photograph out of Sirius's hand and thrust it into a pocket in his robes as all three men stood up and walked briskly out of the kitchen. Halfway to the drawing room, Remus tensed and flung out his arm, signally them to stop. Sirius and Moody froze on spot, watching noiselessly as Remus tilted his head, straining to hear something. A momentary silence filled the hall, suddenly broken by anguished cries coming from the drawing room.

Sirius immediately broke out into a sprint, and heard the sounds of Remus's quick footsteps and Moody's clunking behind him. He reached the drawing room first and wrenched the door open, and was immediately greeted with the sight of Percy Weasley's dead body lying across the floor. Stunned, Sirius stared at the corpse on the carpet before he thought he saw one of its lifeless eyes gaze upon him. The body immediately changed forms and Sirius felt air leave his lungs and haze cloud his brain—Harry was lying pale, spread-eagled, and dead on the floor.

'_NOOO!_' Sirius's head was screaming. '_You just saw him! He was fine! He can't be dead!_'

Before Sirius could even fathom what this could possibly mean, Remus brushed by him and Moody knocked into Sirius from behind. Sirius stumbled into the room, his eyes never leaving the prone form of his godson. He felt weak; his legs were shaking. Remus, however, seemed to have a better grasp of the situation.

"_Riddikulus!_" he cried.

A silvery orb now suspended itself in midair directly above the spot where Harry's body had previously been. Remus waved his wand again and the orb dissolved into a puff of smoke.

Sirius was vaguely aware of Remus comforting a sobbing Molly Weasley as air filled his lungs once more. His head stopped spinning and the pang in his heart started to subside. Sirius could have cried in relief. It was just a boggart, just a stupid boggart. That meant Harry was fine. Harry was okay.

Harry…

The image of his godson lying dead on the floor resurfaced, and Sirius found it hard to banish from his mind. With it, the image brought back painful memories that the Sirius endured repeatedly over and over again in Azkaban, the horrific visions that the dementors loved to subject him with, and the agonizing nightmares that plagued his sleep: James dead body lying crumbled beneath the rubble, Lily's dead and expressionless eyes, baby Harry crying in his crib with that awful cut on his little forehead. Sirius felt ill again. He needed to lie down, he—

"Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me?" Mrs. Weasley said shakily. "Not even able to get rid of a boggart…"

Sirius thought he had been hit in the head with a bludger. He tore his gaze from the spot on the floor where the boggart of Harry's body had previously lain and looked wildly around the room. He found his godson standing in the corner looking pale, but alive. Definitely alive. Sirius's pulse returned to normal.

"Don't be stupid," Harry replied lightly, trying to grin. With some concern, Sirius noted that Harry's voice sounded a bit higher than usual and the attempted smile did not match haunted look in his eyes.

"I'm just so worried," Mrs. Weasley said, tears spilling out of her eyes once more. "Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-P-Percy's not talking to us…What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"

Sirius noticed that Harry began to fidget uncomfortably where he was standing.

"Molly, that's enough," Remus said firmly. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—" Remus was interrupted as Molly squealed in fright at the mention of the name. "Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it—look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…"

Sirius watched as a dark look crossed Harry's eyes and the old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix swam into Sirius's memory. His heart clenched painfully, as if being gripped by and iron fist, and he knew he had to say something—anything—to redirect the conversation to less dangerous ground…to erase that haunted look from his godson's face…

"Don't worry about Percy," he heard himself say abruptly. "It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be excepting their apology," Sirius added to himself. He was surprised to hear the degree of bitterness in his voice; if anyone else observed the change in Sirius's tone, they pretended not to notice.

"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," Remus said, smiling slightly, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously. "Being silly," she muttered again, mopping her eyes. She gave a nervous, hollow giggle. "Thank you, Remus. I do feel a little better now…I think I'll just go to bed. Good night, everyone."

Mrs. Weasley walked to the door, dabbing her eyes one last time, and left. An awkward silence immediately fell upon the other occupants in the room. No one spoke, though various forms of silent communication seemed to be emanating from everywhere. Remus gazed expectantly at Sirius, concern etched in every wrinkle of his worn face. Sirius took no notice; he was looking intently at his godson, trying in vain attempt to catch Harry's eye. Harry, however, was staring determinedly at a point on the floor, as though fascinated by it. At long last, after a few more uncomfortable seconds stretched by, Moody cleared his throat loudly, causing the other three in the room to jump—they had forgotten the old Auror was there. Constant vigilance, indeed.

"Well," Moody growled. "If you will all excuse me, but I'll have to get my spare invisibility cloak to Sturgis Podmore. The guard will be here in the morning—ten o'clock sharp, Potter—we don't want _you_ to miss that train."

Harry nodded, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks, and Sirius understood the cause immediately. Moody, Remus, Tonks, and the Weasley's were supposed to escort Harry and the other children to King's Cross tomorrow. The guard was merely a precaution—Sirius very much doubted that there would be any sort of problem—but in the unlikely event that Voldemort or his Death Eaters should try something, the Order would rather be prepared for such a confrontation. And although Sirius was sure his godson understood the reasoning behind having a guard, he also knew that Harry disliked the added attention it brought. And if Sirius knew Harry like he thought he did, then Sirius shrewdly guessed that his godson was trying to suppress a sudden surge of guilt and annoyance that Moody's comment brought.

As if to confirm Sirius's thinking, Harry shrugged uneasily and mumbled something about having to finish packing his trunk. He began to make his way out the door that Moody had just exited, his eyes downcast. However, as Harry passed his godfather, he looked up, and for one fleeting moment, their eyes met. Sirius inwardly winced at the amount of pain and torment that he saw reflected beneath the surface. No child's eyes should look like that. Compassion and empathy gripped at him. Sirius felt his arm twitch, as if it longed to reach out and grasp his godson's shoulder, but before he could react, the moment had passed. Sirius continued to stare out the drawing room door long after Harry had left.

"Sirius."

Remus's voice was soft, but it was enough to withdraw Sirius out of his reverie. Sirius tore his forlorn gaze from the doorframe and crossed the room to sit on the couch as a tidal wave of emotions raged inside of him. A low sigh emitted from his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to get his emotions back under control. However, grief and frustration overpowered his will, and Sirius surrendered to their torment, his head lowered into his hands. 

Tears were in danger of spilling over his eyes, and a dry sob threatened to escape his lips. The last time he had felt this vulnerable, there had been a horde of dementors crowded outside his cell.

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and Sirius felt Remus sink down on the cushion beside him. The gesture was small, but it was enough to calm him down. Sirius took a couple deep breaths and straightened up, his face composed once more.

"You look like you could use a Cheering Charm," Remus said quietly. A ghost of a grin passed over Sirius's face, and the two sat in silence for a while. Sirius had gone back to staring at the spot on the rug where the boggart of Harry's dead body used to lay. This action did not go unnoticed by Remus; the perceptive werewolf followed his friend's gaze and seemed to guess at what was really bothering him. "Sirius," he murmured lowly. "Harry is not going to end up like Lily and James."

Sirius's grey eyes darkened, his heart constricting. "You weren't at the house that night," he said, his voice a grave whisper. "You didn't have to see James's body broken underneath all the debris. You didn't have to see Lily's lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead. You didn't have to see them dead…" A haunted look briefly flashed over Sirius's grey eyes as he tried to restrain all the horrific images that he had seen from flooding his mind. "And stumbling in on Harry tonight…looking like that…it was like reliving my worst nightmare all over again. I just can't handle it if anything happens to him, Remus, I just _can't_." His voice broke and he turned away.

"I know, Padfoot," Remus said gently, consoling his friend. "I know. We're all afraid, but we can't allow this fear to plague us night and day. You and I both know that Voldemort will stop at nothing to get Harry, and there's no telling what the outcome will be when he does. The only thing we can do for Harry is keep him safe and offer him the best protection we can provide. I know it doesn't always seem like enough, but it's the best we can do for now."

Remus broke off while Sirius mulled over what his friend had said. After a few moments of restlessness, Sirius got up from the couch and began to pace about the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus fold his arms across his chest, and recline slightly back into the cushions as he waited patiently for Sirius to collect his thoughts. After a few minutes of fruitless thinking and watching his own feet shuffle across the floor, Sirius's mind drifted back to James, anxiously pacing around the waiting room at St. Mungo's, waiting to hear news on the birth of his son. They had all been there then…James pacing around the delivery ward…Remus checking in every few minutes at the nurse's station on James's behalf, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the counter as they waited to hear word from Lily…Peter perched on the edge of his chair, wringing his hands nervously in his lap…and Sirius himself leaning effortlessly back against the wall, watching the scene with a barely concealed grin on his face because James had just asked him to be the godfather of his child. Sirius allowed himself a few more moments of happy thoughts before he pulled himself back from his reminiscing. He glanced back over to Remus, who was still watching Sirius attentively.

"You are right, of course," Sirius replied quietly. "I know the Order is doing all it can, but I will never stop worrying about Harry's safety, but it's not just that which concerns me…" He trailed off, running an impatient hand through his hair as he stared at the opposite wall.

Remus barely refrained from letting out an exasperated sigh. "Then _what_ is it, Sirius?"

Sirius jerked around so suddenly that Remus started. When Sirius spoken again, there was a sharp edge in his voice. "What is it, what _is_ it?" he repeated harshly. "I'll tell you what it is! Ever since Harry witnessed Voldemort's return and Diggory's death, he's looked so miserable. Even when Ron and Hermione try to distract him, or the Weasley twins make him laugh, he seems to be alright for just a moment, but then he falls back into a depression again—surely you have noticed?"

"Of course I have—"

"Yeah," Sirius scoffed. "Well, so has everyone else. And they are all looking at me to make it right because he's my godson. Meanwhile, I have to endure Molly Weasley's dirty looks and snide comments about how I'm such a failure as a godfather. I've tried comforting him, Remus—Merlin _knows_ I've tried—but every time I go to reassure him that everything is going to be okay, I falter because I don't know how to help him when I'm stuck here trapped in this hellhole of my own!"

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but Sirius's shouting cut him off. "I hate this house! I hate everything about it—every time I turn around there is some heirloom reminding me of my family's dark history's, or Kreacher muttering about what a disgrace I am, or my dear old mother's portrait shrieking and disowning me all over again."

Remus was speechless. In all of his years of knowing Sirius, he had never seen his friend act this way before. It was extraordinarily unsettling. The werewolf attempted to soothe his friend, but a dangerous, manic gleam appeared in Sirius's eyes now, and his voice dropped into a deathly hiss.

"And then…at night…the memories come. Always the same horrifying ones the dementors tormented me with in Azkaban. And every night I wake up yelling…like I'm back there in my cell…"

Remus found his voice again. "Sirius, you've been through a terrible ordeal—"

"Why should it matter?" Sirius snapped as his temper flared and his voice rose again. "No matter what I'm going through—it shouldn't matter—because it's not fair to Harry! He needs help and just because I'm too selfish to give it to him, doesn't mean he should have to suffer. Harry shouldn't have to endure what he's going through just because he's got some cracked up old godfather who's too pathetic to put aside his own problems long enough to help the one person he cares about the most!"

Sirius's voice broke once again, and he shook his head in defeat, his anger subsided. He looked shamefacedly down at his hands. "He must hate me," he whispered softly.

"Stop it, Sirius."

Remus was on his feet, a lecture ready on his lips. "You and I both know very well that Harry doesn't hate you, and there is a very, _very_ good chance he never will. And as for what he's going through, I can't think of anyone in this world who knows how he feels better than you. No, listen!" Remus commanded, holding up a hand to ward of Sirius's rebuttal. "You and Harry both have had to endure living with families who mistreated you just because you were different. You both have been subjected to painful ordeals that will probably haunt you for the rest of your lives. And perhaps the most unfortunate thing of all…you both have been lonely for a very long time…"

Sirius slumped into the nearest armchair as he let the implication of Remus's words sink in, his head in his hands. "I just feel so _helpless_…" he confessed quietly.

Sirius felt a gentle hand pry his chin upward, and Sirius met Remus's affectionate amber gaze. "I know you feel helpless, Padfoot," he said soothingly. "And I know that you're hurting. I also know that nothing I can say will reassure you completely, but please don't give up hope yet. All is not lost. You will get through this, and, in time, you'll be able to help get Harry through this, too."

"I'm still worried about him," Sirius whispered hoarsely.

"Well, you wouldn't be his godfather if you didn't," Remus replied firmly.

Sirius rose, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His heart felt lighter than it had been in days. And though he knew his fears and worries would never disappear entirely, they at least subsided for the time being. Sirius clasped Remus fondly on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Moony," he said gratefully. "For never giving up on me."

"Anytime, Padfoot," Remus responded, stifling a yawn. "I think I'm going to pour myself a cup of tea before I turn in. Would you like one?"

"No thank you, Remus," Sirius replied lightly as they walked out of the drawing room. "I dare say that if I sit down, I might not be capable of getting up again…especially not if that tea of yours is contaminated with some of that Dreamless Sleep Potion that you have been slipping me for the past couple nights…"

Remus's tone feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you mean, Sirius."

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Come off it, Remus," he said softly. "Dung let it slip that you were drugging me under Dumbledore's orders. And while I appreciate his concern and the occasional reprieve that potion offers, I don't need _him_ doing me any favors." There was a slight pause as the two men stared at each other.

"It is, of course, your decision," Remus said slowly, studying his friend intently. "If you don't want it, then I won't force it on you, but Sirius—please forgive me for saying so—you really look like you could use a dose tonight."

Sirius sighed warily, running a tired hand through his hair. If he was honest with himself, after the events that had just transpired over the past hour, a Dreamless Sleep Potion probably wouldn't be such a bad idea. The vision of Harry's dead body resurfaced in his mind, and Sirius quickly banished the image back again. However, Sirius would be damned if he let Albus Dumbledore—the man who had imprisoned him within his own dreadful house—control his sleeping patterns. Sirius was even more enraged by the fact that his former headmaster had enlisted Remus to carry out his surreptitious biddings, and slightly hurt that his best friend had agreed to take part in his secret ploy in the first place. Nevertheless, Sirius knew deep down—though he was far too stubborn to admit it—that Dumbledore truly meant well and Remus was only trying to help. But, like always, his stubbornness got the best of him.

"If I need it, then I'll get it," Sirius said shortly. "The potion is in the cabinet over the kitchen sink, is it not?"

"Yes," Remus replied, albeit reluctantly. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Remus knew it would be useless. He had learned long ago that when Sirius Black had his mind made up about something, then it was utterly impossible to make him think otherwise. Remus shook his head in defeat. "Well then, good night, Sirius. Sleep well."

"And you, Remus."

* * *

As always, reviews are welcome. The next chapter will hopefully be out within a week or so.

Love Always,

SiriusElvenStar


	2. Chapter 2

A Godfather's Struggle

_SiriusElvenStar_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Some excerpts from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, American edition, Chapter 9: The Woes of Mrs. Weasley, pages 173-178.

Summary: A missing moment from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ that would have added more Harry and Sirius and Remus bonding time. What was really going through Sirius's mind when he saw the boggart of a dead Harry on the floor? Slightly Alternate Universe.

* * *

Remus turned around and made his way back down towards the kitchen. Sirius watched him go, and then began walking in the opposite direction, making his ascension up the staircase toward his bedroom.

Halfway up the first set of stairs, he saw Kreacher cleaning his mother's portrait, his gnarled fingers caressing the frame with the rag with a look of pure adoration in his beady eyes. The look of adoration immediately changed into pure loathing as Sirius stepped onto the landing. The house elf turned to him, bowing lowly and contemptuously as he sent Sirius the dirtiest look he could muster. Kreacher rose again with a wicked grin plastered on his filthy face.

"Master Black," he muttered, his voice oily and false. "Off to bed? Kreacher knows Master sleeps in his Mistress's bedroom, staining the sheets with his treachery and filth. Oh what would Kreacher's poor mistress say if she knew…"

Sirius scowled at the deranged house elf, but chose not to comment. He had endured enough unpleasantness today and had no patience for more of Kreacher's baiting. Sirius walked by the elf, resisting the urge to throttle him for good measure, and continued making his way up the stairs. However, Kreacher's mutterings seemed to echo on the walls around him.

"What a disgrace he is to his family, bringing mudbloods, half breeds, blood traitors, and criminals inside the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"_Who was that, Kreacher?"_ came a harsh, hoarse voice.

"The vile, treacherous son, my Mistress."

"_Filth, scum, shame of my flesh."_

"Miserable old hag," Sirius grumbled as he came to the second floor. He continued down the hallway, but paused when he reached the first door on the right. Sirius listened intently to see if he could hear any noise coming from his godson's bedroom that would give any indication on how Harry was coping since the episode downstairs. He was met with only silence. Gloomily, Sirius shook his head and continued walking towards his mother's bedroom where he occasionally slept when he didn't feel like inhabiting his once childhood room a floor above.

Buckbeak shuffled restlessly as he entered, and Sirius bowed lowly before moving forward to stroke the hippogriff as he cast his gaze upon the miserable room. There was a large canopy bed in the center of the room, adorned in deep emerald and silver trimming that matched the long silken curtains that listlessly hung over the two large bay windows on opposite wall. The room was furnished elegantly with Victorian handcrafted wooden furniture consisting of a bureau, wardrobe, dresser, desk, sitting table, and dining chairs placed elaborately around the bedroom in idyllic locations. And these items were all that were left of Mrs. Black's possessions. Upon first moving in, Sirius had purged the room of all décor of a more sensitive and darker nature including several ugly and decapitated house elf heads, sinister instruments of torture of which Sirius was all too painfully familiar with, malevolent books full of Dark Magic spells and enchantments, as well any objects that his mother had found of value, and replaced them with his own personal belongings such as clothes, pictures, other useful objects of a much more pleasant nature, and Buckbeak, of course.

Sirius patted the hippogriff one final time before he strode around to the corner of the bed, shrugging off his robe. He picked up another darkened blue one much more suitable for sleeping in, which currently hung unceremoniously from one of the bedpost, and carried it with him as he ducked into the bathroom. Sirius emerged a few minutes later, changed, washed, and utterly tired. He fell gracefully onto his bed, turning off the lights with a wave of his wand.

Darkness crept over him, but sleep would not come. Memories that Sirius would have rather forgotten fought their way to the front of his mind. And there was a new one that stood out more clearly than all the rest, and Sirius tried desperately to hold it at bay. However, his struggle was in vain, and Sirius found himself once again staring into the green, lifeless eyes of his godson as Harry's corpse lie upon the floor of the drawing room.

Sirius shivered in fear.

He was by no means a scared man; in fact, most people revered Sirius Black for his immense courage and devil-may-care attitude. He neither feared mental, emotional, or physical pain—Azkaban and his mother had seen to that. Nor was Sirius a stranger to death, having endured the deaths of several of his dearest friends over the years and having a few close shaves himself. However, throughout all of his horrific encounters, Sirius had never before found something that had completely terrified him more than the brief glimpse of his godson's dead body. And that momentary sight frightened him more than anything else in the world.

Sirius rolled restlessly onto his stomach and clamped a pillow over his head. He took a few deep cleansing breaths to calm his breathing, which had become slightly uneven over the past couple minutes. After some time, sank comfortably down into the soft silken sheets and felt his heavy eyelids droop closed.

"_HOW DARE YOU DISGRACE US IN THIS MANNER?!"_

_Walburga Black's maddened cry echoed across the drawing room, her frigid form twisting and contorting as the screaming unhinged her. Beads of spittle clung to her white-lined lips and breathless pants racked her entire torso. A maniac glint appeared in her merciless eyes as she glared furiously down at her firstborn. _

_The young Sirius Black attempted to glare defiantly back at his mother. The look he produced, however, appeared to more of a wince as he tried to gather himself off the floor. His muscles protested the effort, having already endured several excruciated hexes and curses. Nevertheless, Sirius stubbornly fought against the pain and pulled his feet out from underneath him while he used his hands to push himself up. An audible crack resounded around the room and Sirius wasn't resilient enough to keep the tears from pooling in his eyes as he cradled his broken wrist to his chest._

_A snicker resonated from across the room. "Real brave there, Sirius," little Regulus Black sneered, mocking his older brother's tears of pain. "Is that the Gryffindor courage that you've boasted so highly about?"_

"_Silence, Regulus!" Walburga Black hissed. "I will not have that filthy word besmirching the house of my father's!"_

_Sirius glowered at Regulus who fell immediately silent at his mother's words, acting in perfect obedience. Sirius sickened with disgust at his brother's blind faith in their mother, but felt considerably more hurt by his callous remark. Sirius wasn't foolish enough to believe that his welcome home reception would be nothing less than sheer torture from his mother, but he had expected a slightly less degree of hostility from his brother. However, it appeared that Walburga Black had completed the brainwashing sequence on Regulus by establishing an extremely severe anti-Gryffindor mantra. There was no way that the younger Black would follow in his brother's footsteps— it would be death to do so. Nonetheless, the small betrayal stung Sirius badly._

_Even worse than Regulus's behavior toward him was the indifference his own father bestowed him. Sirius expected Orion Black to be furious and disappointed with him in the very least, but instead, Sirius's father refused to speak to him or acknowledge his presence. On the rare occasion that he did so, Orion regarded him with detachment and apathy, viewing his son with no more interest than that of a servant. This delighted Kreacher, the Black family's horrible and deranged house elf, who taunted and teased Sirius wickedly for his "crime" against his family. As Sirius gazed around the drawing room, he saw his father standing aloof in the corner while Kreacher leered at Sirius, cackling quietly at his master's feet._

_A sharp slap across his face brought Sirius back to the present. His mother icy stare was boring down on him. Looking for the tiniest shred of pity, Sirius turned pleadingly to his father. He found none. Resigned and defeated, Sirius turned back to face his livid mother. _

"_After all your father and I have given you," she hissed. "After all we have taught you! After all we have done for you! And this is how you repay us? By bringing your family to shame!" Walburga Black pointed a wild, accusatory finger at Sirius. "You are a Pureblood and a Black! Surely you know what this position of privilege entails us to be? We are ambitious, cunning, and resourceful. We are raised to uphold the doctrine of purebloods and set an example as the elite class in all of wizarding society. We are given positions of power and authority to insure that we cleanse the magic community from foul blood. And do you know how we do this, Sirius? WE ARE SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN!!"_

"_Our cousin Andromeda is a Black, and she isn't in Slytherin," Sirius said quietly. Walburga rewarded his retaliation with another harsh slap across the face. _

"_At least your cousin Andromeda had the decency to get sorted into Ravenclaw!" she shrieked. "That at least is a fairly respectable house, though not nearly as superior as Slytherin. But you, my noble son, get yourself sorted into Gryffindor. Gryffindor: the house of mudbloods and fools. What a disgrace!" she spat. _

_But Sirius had heard enough. He wasn't about to tolerate any more condemnations of the house that he idolized. In Gryffindor, Sirius felt like he was a part of something important. More importantly, he had friends there that cared deeply about him, not because he was asset that would hopefully someday bring honor to his house, but because he was a loyal and steadfast friend. Just because he was Sirius. And he was not about to let anyone take that away from him. _

_With his courage firmly in place, Sirius pulled himself to his full height and looked his mother squarely in the eye, no longer afraid of her wraith. "To hell with your Black ideologies," he stated fervently. "I would rather die a Gryffindor than live one day as a Slytherin."_

_Walburga Black's pitiless eyes narrowed into perfect slits. "Then you are no son of mine," she declared coldly. "Crucio."_

Sirius awoke in a panic as he tumbled onto the hardwood floor of his bedroom, still entangled amongst the sheets. His quivering fingers groped blindly for the blankets and finally managed to free himself from their treacherous snare. Sirius scrambled to his feet, pulled out his wand, and frantically strained to hear amongst the darkness for the tiniest hint of what had jarred him from sleep. He was met only by silence, save for his own erratic heartbeat pounding in his ears. With reality donning on him once more, Sirius pocketed his wand with a shaking hand and sank heavily back onto his mattress, running a sweaty palm through his matted hair as his hitched breathing returned back to normal. Sirius's mind wandered back to the events that had woke him up and shuddered.

It had felt so real.

Upon his moment of waking, Sirius actually believed that he would see the frigid form of Walburga Black scowling over him, a wicked wand in her callous hand, a cruel spell waiting on her merciless lips, and a loathsome glare in her pitiless eyes as she punished her son…Regulus, the Black Prince, silently watching the display in front of him with a cold smirk lining his smug, arrogant face and a hungry, eager expression emitting from his sunken eyes…His father, Orion Black, standing in the corner, his arms crossed haughtily, sneering at the display of Gryffindor bravado that Sirius exemplified during his mother's punishments…Kreacher lurking in the background, muttering insults and cackling gleefully at the sight before him…

Sirius shuddered again involuntarily. The nightmare that plagued him tonight was one that lay twenty three years in the past. It had been the beginning of summer break after his first year at Hogwarts. Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, much to his family's disgrace. He had so far avoided their wrath by refusing to come home over the holidays, opting instead to remain at Hogwarts with his friends. However, his refusal to return home only further added to his mother's retribution, and when Sirius could no longer delay coming home at the end of the year, Walburga Black released her fury in full upon her rebellious son. The days following his punishment were the some of the most painful and horrific memories of Sirius's youth.

Sirius sighed deeply, suddenly feeling very tired, but even as exhausted as he was, Sirius knew that there was no way in hell that he would be able to sleep again tonight. His nightmares had a malicious way of banishing the sleep he desired, yet still allowing the fatigue he could have done without. Slowly, Sirius hauled himself to his feet and removed his sweat drenched robes as he pulled on another dryer one, but his skin still felt cold and clammy to his touch. Sirius shook his head warily as he made for the door, having every intention of pouring a hot tea or possibly a bit of Firewhisky to warm himself up. He'd even give in to a Dreamless Sleep Potion, granted that Remus would never find out. Why was that damned werewolf _always_ right?

Sirius's years of nighttime wonderings at school had made him an expert in the art of sneaking. He stole through the narrow hallway, his silent footsteps barely making a sound as he tried not to disturb the fortunate few who had the luxury of sleep. Sirius was almost to the top of the stairs when a slight noise startled him. He tilted his head and strained his ears as he followed the muffled sound. It came from behind the last door to his left—Harry's room.

Sirius's heart skipped a beat. Impulse seized him, and before Sirius knew what he was doing, he had his wand in his hand and his other was turning the brass doorknob as he burst into the blackened room.

"_Lumos."_

A small beam of light trailed from Sirius's wand as he raised his wand above his head. A quick scan of the room confirmed that there were no intruders, Death Eaters, or even Kreacher lurking in the shadows waiting for the opportune moment of attack. Sirius allowed himself to relax a bit, having his initial fear pacified, as he continued to look for the noise that had alerted his attention.

It didn't take very long to find it. Lying on the second bed in the room, past the deafening snores of Ron Weasley, Harry was tossing and turning amongst his bed sheets. Sirius crept quickly and quietly to his godson's side and shook his shoulder lightly as he whispered his name in an attempt to gently wake him. However, Harry violently ripped himself away from his godfather's touch and started thrashing about more widely—Sirius barely avoided his godson's fist colliding with his nose. He dropped his wand and used both of his free hands to try and hold Harry still. After a few moments of struggling on both sides, Sirius managed to pin his godson down on the bed. He moved to Harry's right to get a better view of his face, and watched in alarm as sweat broke out on along his godson's forehead while his breathing became more erratic. Harry began to moan.

"No! Get away!"

"Harry, it's me," Sirius panted as he restrained his godson. "It's Sirius. Wake up."

"Mum! Dad! Don't leave me!"

"Harry, you're having a nightmare. Come on, kiddo. Wake up!"

Sirius's frantic yell finally seemed to give him a conscious response from his godson. Harry gasped as he awoke, his breathless pants slowing slightly. Sirius watched as Harry's anxious eyes scanned the room, darting from himself, entangled in his bed sheets, to Ron snoring on the other bed, and then to Sirius, who still held Harry's wrists in a vice-like grip and stared down at his godson with concern displayed on every inch of his weary face. It took just a few mere seconds for his godson to put the pieces together. Even in the darkness, Sirius could see the heat rising in Harry's face as he looked ashamedly down at his blankets.

"Sorry," Harry whispered, thoroughly humiliated. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Sirius was sure that he felt his jaw drop. Whatever reaction he had expected to get from his godson, it clearly wasn't that. Sirius had just borne witness to one of Harry's more vicious nightmares, and he had a shrewd suspicion that it had something to do with the encounter at the graveyard this past summer. Those memories were probably provoked by the events that had occurred earlier tonight. It was truly a marvel that Harry could sleep at all.

'_Merlin,'_ Sirius thought exasperatedly. _'He has to cope with dueling Voldemort, dodging Death Eaters, and discovering his own dead body. Waking me should be the least of his worries.'_

After a few seconds of his lingering silence, Sirius caught Harry looking worriedly up at him, trying to discern his godfather's reaction. When Sirius met his gaze, Harry began to fidget uncomfortably under his godfather's scrutiny. Harry opened his mouth with no doubt another apology in mind, but Sirius cut him off.

"There's no need to apologize, Harry," Sirius said quietly. "You had a nightmare. However, if it makes you feel any better, I was already up. And it appears that you didn't disturb Ron either, although it's my personal belief that he could sleep through a stampede of hippogriffs with all that snoring." The tiniest of smiles appeared on Harry's face before both he and Sirius lapsed into another uncomfortable silence, each caught up within their own thoughts.

"How loud was I yelling?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Harry, caught completely off guard by the question. "What?"

"How loud was I yelling?" Harry asked quietly as he determinedly fidgeted with a loose thread on his comforter as an excuse for deliberately avoiding Sirius's eyes. "Even if you were already awake, you must have heard me from outside the hallway. So, how loud was I yelling?"

Sirius had a suspicion of where this conversation was headed. "Harry, while my hearing is by no means as acute as that of our resident werewolf, it's pretty damn close. Being an Animagus, my senses are sharpened slightly because of Padfoot's natural abilities. And Harry, I promise you that even Remus might have missed the commotion in here unless he paused at the top of the stairs as I did..."

Although Harry nodded numbly at his godfather's words, the disbelief was still evident on his face. Sirius internally battled with himself for a moment, not wanting to make his godson more uncomfortable than he already was, but then resolutely lifted Harry's chin upwards to meet his gaze directly. In the back of his mind, he fleetingly remembered Remus performing the same gesture to him just a few hours before. Harry's sleepy eyes were fully alert now, the haunted gleam back in full measure, and he flinched nervously at his godfather's forthright manner. It was moments like this when Sirius cursed himself over and over again for going after Peter instead of taking Harry with him that fateful night. He knew Lily's relatives never treated Harry as one of their own, but Sirius never thought the neglect ran that deep until he felt his godson's clear discomfort by small gestures of intimate contact. Swallowing his own regret, Sirius determinedly pushed through the barriers his godson put up.

"And even if you woke up the entire house, so what? You had a nightmare, Harry. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Merlin knows if anyone has the right to a nightmare, you do. And I would rather stay by your side every night to wake you up if necessary than sleep every night through peacefully while you suffered. I'm certainly not bothered by it, so there's no suitable reason why you should be either."

Sirius finished his speech somewhat lamely, and he made a mental note to seek out advice from Remus on lecturing tips. However, despite his lack of articulacy, one look at his godson's face erased all former doubt in himself. He watched in astonishment as Harry appeared to swallow a lump in his throat and bite down on his bottom lip to prevent it from trembling. It was at that moment Sirius knew that he had achieved the impossible. The firm barriers that his godson took such care in constructing around himself were slowly crumbling. Harry's striking green eyes shown even in the darkness and they were filled with something that Sirius knew was not there before—hope.

Without any hesitation on his part what so ever, Sirius reached out and pulled his godson into the first real hug he had ever given Harry since he was a baby. Though Harry tensed initially at the touch, he returned the embrace in full a few seconds later. Sirius held Harry close for as long as possible, until the last possible moment, then reluctantly released his godson, who was trying very hard to recover his composure. Once calmed again, he offered Sirius a small smile.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

"You're welcome," Sirius replied seriously. He was incredibly relieved—more than his pride was willing to admit—that he and Harry had reached some sort of common ground, but Sirius wondered exactly how far that bond extended. He could still sense that the nightmare was preoccupying Harry's mind, and Sirius absolutely refused to helplessly stand by and let Harry deal with his own problems. Encouraged because of his prior success at comforting his godson, Sirius carefully treaded the bounds of their newly founded relationship. "Your nightmare, it was about the graveyard, wasn't it?" Harry slowly nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry hesitated, and for one horrifying second Sirius thought he was about to have all of his hopes of being a good godfather crushed. His godson was going to block him out again. Harry, however, stole a fleeting look at the bed next to them and watched Ron for a moment. Slowly, he turned back to Sirius who was barely concealing his anxiousness. "Sure, but not here, okay?"

Sirius nodded and stood up, silently cursing himself for his unfounded panic attack, and helped his godson disentangle himself from his sheets. Once they were off, Harry pulled on a robe over his pajamas and Sirius steered his godson out of the room, closing off Ron's thunderous snoring as he pulled the brass doorknob behind him once more. Sirius turned to find Harry waiting expectantly for him on the stairs, and Sirius allowed himself to smile as he affectionately laid a hand on his godson's shoulder before leading him down the stairs.

* * *

As always, reviews are welcome. I hope to have the next chapter out some time within the next two weeks.

Love Always,

SiriusElvenStar


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